The True Feelings of
by hazelle
Summary: Movieverse, a collection of oneshots from various character's POVS, including Peter, Doc Ock, Jameson, Harry and MJ. Rated PG13 for chapter 4 only, rest is PG. FINISHED!
1. A Photographer cum Superhero

**Run! Hide! It's a songfic! Heehee the second one I've written. If you don't like songfics or don't know the song, just ignore the song part and read the rest. That's what I do anyway. ;)**

**Spider-man belongs to a lot of people who aren't me and the same goes for the song, which is 'Simon' by Lifehouse. I wrote this as practice for writing in first person, because I've got to do a monologue for my English class in this style. Sooooo, constructive criticism would be VERY much appreciated, thanks. I've written 2 more monologues for Harry and MJ, I mightput them up soon.**

**The True Feelings of a Photographer-cum-Superhero**

_Catch your breath_

_Hit the wall_

_Scream out loud as you start to crawl_

_Back in you cage_

There.

There she is.

The only thing in my life that makes it worth living.

The only thing I desire with all my heart.

The only thing I can never have.

'_Cause the weak will seek the weaker until they've broken them_

_Could you get it back again?_

_Would it be the same?_

_Fulfilment to their lack of strength at your expense_

_Left you with no defence_

_They tore it down_

I'm lucky to have six hours to spare just sitting and thinking and watching, but I'm sitting and thinking and watching on borrowed time. I _should_ be doing something productive, like my homework, or patrolling the city for crime. But I'm not. That's her fault, not mine. It's her fault she's so damn beautiful and witty and intriguing and the million other things that Mary Jane Watson is. It's her fault I've been sitting here watching her for the last hour. It's her fault I'll be sitting here watching her for the next _five_.

_And I have felt the same as you_

_I've felt the same as you_

_I've felt the_ _same_

Not my fault. I can't be blamed for that. I've taken the blame for so much I don't deserve, yet it'll never be enough. I'll never feel guilty enough to _not_ feel guilty. However impossible that sounds. It's like that saying, 'perfection has to be imperfect'. Just like those kind of sayings that take you round in circles and drive you insane with their cryptic manner. I know I'll never be free of my guilt, just like I'll never be free of my conscience. I accept that. I accept my responsibility _now_, of all times, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

_Locked inside the only place where you feel sheltered_

_Where you feel safe_

_You lost yourself in your search to find something else to hide behind_

_The fearful always preyed upon your confidence_

_Did they see the consequence when they pushed you around?_

_The arrogant build kingdoms made of the different ones_

_Breaking them 'til they've become just another crown_

_  
_I don't like being Spider-man, but I am and always will be. Not many people know that. Only one. Just me. One secret of many that I carry. One extra burden to pile on top of the rest. Go to school, visit Aunt May, visit Harry, get some shots for the Bugle, visit MJ and be Spider-man to name a few of them. Not that I consider my friends and family to be a burden, more like a gift, but still a gift I have to give. Just like the curse of that spider bite, I suppose. In one way a gift, in another a curse. A gift to the people of New York who need saving, a curse on myself and on my family and friends who have to put up with it.

_And I have felt the same as you_

_I've felt the same as you_

_I've felt the same_

If I hadn't been so lucky enough as to have been bitten by that spider, would I still be alive today? No, I decide. Or would I? Uncle Ben certainly would be. The Green Goblin would still have come into existence, but he wouldn't have targeted MJ if it weren't for me. He would still have terrorised the city, though. And with no one to challenge him, he may well have levelled it. So myself, Uncle Ben, Aunt May, MJ and Harry would all be dead, along with the rest of the city. Probably. It's a little depressing, but maybe I would have been better off if I had never been bitten. We'd all be a big happy family in heaven. But I'm being selfish. MJ, Aunt May and Harry don't deserve to die, and neither did Uncle Ben.

_Refuse to feel anything at all_

_Refuse to slip refuse to fall_

_Can't be weak can't stand still_

_Watch your back 'cause no one will_

My conscience is nagging me to stop watching her, go read a book or something or at least _go_ to her, but I won't. Instead I'll sit out here like a peeping Tom and try my best to ignore the little voice at the back of mind which is telling me this is wrong and sounds surprisingly like Aunt May. Or maybe not so surprising. After all, if she was here, I knew she'd be telling me to do the exact same thing my conscience is. It's handy, really. Like an inbuilt compass that tells me what's Right and Wrong rather than what's North and South.

_You don't know why they had to go this far_

_Traded your worth for these scars for your only company_

_Don't believe the lies that they told to you_

_Not one word was true_

_You're alright_

_You're alright_

_You're alright_

Not everyone is so lucky as to have one. It's only recently I've acquired such a sense of right and wrong, a compass, if you will. Not many people are born with one, but most acquire one as they go along in life. Or after some life shattering event, like Uncle Ben dying.

_And I have felt the same as you_

_I've felt the same as you_

_I've felt the same_

_As you I've felt the same_

No, not everyone is so lucky.

**Fin**

**You'll never believe what happened yesterday! Mum and I went into a shop called Barretts to get some riding boots, and as we were paying at the counter, 5 men burst in and said "Everyone on the floor! This is a robbery!" And they took loads of the expensive coats and saddles, then one customer moved and one of the robbers said, "Don't move! We have gas!" And I saw a red canister in his hand! They got away with £4000 worth of stock and the police have no leads so far. It was so scary and now whenever I read Spidey fics that have robberies in them I see them in a different light. If only Spidey had been around to rescue me, but alas, he's in America, so that's why he didn't come. Or so I keep reassuring myself. ;)**


	2. A Freak With Too Many Arms

**Hi! I decided to roll all my monologues together into one fic since they're in the same style. So that's the reason for the shortening of the title. The song is 'Cling and Clatter' by Lifehouse.**

**Behind A Mask: No I don't mind constructive criticims, I really wanted it for this fic, but I purposely used short simple sentences because on the sheet my teacher gave me, that was part of the criteria I had to cover. :) I thought your 2 poems were very good and thanks a bunch for reviewing!**

**Emily M. Hanson: Thank you, I'm glad I'm ok too. What are you talking about it'd be nice if there was a real life Spidey? There _is_ a real life Spidey I tell ya! ;)**

**LordLanceahlot: It was scary but exciting and thanks for reviewing! :)**

**Moonjava: No problemo, and thanks so much! :)**

**Spyder616: First person is harder than third, it was a nice change from the usual though. That incident with the guy with the gun is shocking- especially in England! I'm glad you're ok and don't worry I'll post the Harry monologue the chapter after this one but the MJ one won't be too last 'cause I want to end this fic on a happy note. :)**

**betty brant: Aww thank you! I don't like songfics either but here I am, writing one. I don't really know why, but I added the lyrics 'cause they seemed to fit. It's fine about the C2 thing, after all only the best Peter/MJ fics go in there! :) The MJ one should be up fairly soon, but I'm putting it up last 'cause I want to end on a happy note.**

**C.D Anders: Thanks, I hope you like this one! :) (you better or else!) (PS: only kidding!)**

**Jenn: Thanks and thanks again- it's nice to be cared about! :)**

**Thanks to all my reviewers! ****Here's Otto, please read and review! :D**

**The True Feelings of an Freak With Too Many Arms**

_Too many voices_

_It won't take long_

_Which one's right and which one's wrong?_

_Yours is most likely to be misunderstood_

I miss you, Rosie.

I miss waking up to a perfectly normal day.

I miss not having five voices in my head instead of one.

I miss a lot of things, but I know missing them won't bring them back no matter how many tears are shed.

_Screaming in tongues on the top of my lungs_

'_Til I find you 'til you found me_

_Somehow I always knew that you would_

What happened has happened and there's nothing I can do about it. I know that. I don't want to live in the past anymore. I never used to. I _used_ to live in the future, the future I'd carved for myself and mankind in my mind's eye. I used to go to bed with a satisfied smile on my lips that comes from achieving something, and wake up with a hopeful smile telling of the things I planned to achieve that day. Like I said, a lot of things change, and here I am, living in the past again.

_And I am contemplating matters_

_All this cling and clatter in my head_

_And what you said is ringing, ringing faster_

_And it's all good_

_If you would stop the world from making sense_

_And if I could just realise it doesn't really matter_

Still, that's the only place I can live peacefully. I'm happy there, with Rosie on my right and my life's work on my left. I can't exactly live in the future now that there _is_ no future for me, and the present isn't much better. I'm treated with hate, outrage, like a criminal. And rightly so, I suppose. After all I _am_ guilty as charged so to speak; there's no point denying what I've done. To do that would be outright blatant _lying_, and I am anything but a liar. I take the blame for what I should, but I will not be charged with breaking the 9th commandment as well as the 3rd, 6th and 8th.

_If I could touch the sound of silence now_

_You know I would if I knew how_

_To make these intentions come around_

I've always been an honest man. The straightforward, direct kind. Some might call it blunt but I prefer to know the facts as they are. I treat people how I like to be treated. If I was dying I'd like to know straight away, thank you very much, no beating around the bush, and that way I'd have a good five more minutes to do something useful with my life before I go six feet under.

_I'm hearing without listening_

_And believing every word you are not saying_

_Speaking without a sound_

Life's too short to waste. Too precious, a gift that can easily be taken back if He should please it. I realise that now. I never truly knew the fragility of the human life until Rosie died. _Now_ I'm far too familiar with the sting of loss than I'm comfortable with.

_Trapped inside of these four walls_

_Walking brainless muppet dolls_

_Mushroom face beneath the tangles_

_Bleeding silhouette inside_

_Dancing like an angel would_

I've succeeded in blocking out the other four voices for 13 minutes and 27 seconds now. That's a new record. I can feel them pressing at the sides of my mind, a constant nagging that's similar to the feeling you get when you know you've forgotten something, but you don't know what. I can feel their bodies curling tranquilly behind me, moving my trench coat. They're calm, for now.

_And it's all good_

_If you would stop the world from making sense_

_And if I could just realise it doesn't really matter_

_Does it really matter?_

_Does it really matter?_

_All this cling and clatter_

I have to grasp moments like these while they're in my reach, before it's too late and I'm no longer in control. I'm a prisoner in my own mind, a slave to my own creation.

Even now I know they're stirring, growing stronger, getting ready to overpower me.

That's why I'm writing this journal in the fleeting moments of sanity I can grasp, in the perhaps foolish hope that one day when I'm dead and gone, people will know the truth.

I'm not a cold-blooded killer. I'm just an ordinary man who was too intelligent for his own good.

Goodbye, my sweet Rosie.

_The Ten Commandments_

_One: Thou shalt have no other gods before me._

_Two: Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image._

_Three: Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain._

_Four: Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy._

_Five: Honour thy father and thy mother._

_Six: Thou shalt not kill._

_Seven: Thou shalt not commit adultery._

_Eight: Thou shalt not steal._

_Nine: Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour._

_Ten: Thou shalt not covet any thing that is thy neighbour's._

**Fin**

**I've written and handed in the monologue for my GCSE coursework, now I've just got to sit here and nervously cross my fingers whilst hopefully reading some nice reviews telling me I'll pass! Lol, that's just my fancy way of saying please review! ;)**


	3. A Never Satisfied Newshound

**Hi people! I'm hyper today so I decided to post this early! :D Oh and for anyone who read the first chapter of Smoking On The Rooftops, I've written all 4 chapters of it yesterday and I'll start posting them as soon as I've finished with this fic! :D**

**Spyder616: Thanks, and neaither did I till I looked them up. ;) Thanks for the vote of confidence and Harry is up next!**

**Jenn1: Yeah, Ock rocked compared to the Goblin. Thanks for your email, the PC is being repaired tomorrow and hopefully should be back by Friday! Yay!**

**LordLanceahlot: Better not read too deeply into these fics ;) Thanks for reviewing!**

**Emily M. Hanson: Thanks and I couldn't be preachy if I tried! lol**

**C.D Anders: Ewww, could do without the mental image of that but thanks for reviewing anyways! :P**

**The Trickster: Thanks and yep, this is the 'more' you asked about. ;)**

**Thank you everyone who reviewed! :D**

**The True Feelings of a Never-Satisfied Newshound**

They call him 'saviour.'

'Liberator.'

'Hero.'

_If shame had a face I think it would kind of look like mine_

_If it had a home would it be my eyes?_

_Would you believe me if I said I was tired of this_

_Now here we go on more time_

Well every hero has his flaws, the flaw that leads to tragedy, no matter how perfect he may seem. That's _my _reason for what I do. Dragging his name through the mud then hammering it firmly down with nails so he can't just get back up and dust himself off no matter how hard he tries. _His_ reasons for doing what he does, on the other hand, aren't quite so black and white. There are grey areas in between that even the mighty Spider-man can't cover with impressive 'heroics.'

_I tried to climb your steps I tried to chase you down_

_I tried to see how low I could get down to the ground_

_I tried to earn my way I tried to change this mind_

_You better believe I tried to beat this_

I'm only thinking of New York, the people who live here. One day Spider-man's tragic flaw will be revealed, he'll fail to complete his duties as protector of this city, the duties he bestowed upon himself when he took up this guise. He'll let everyone down right when they need him the most. I can see it coming a mile off, but then others tend to be blinkered when it comes to New York's residential 'hero'. They only see what he wants them to see, well I see past the disguise. It'll all end badly, just you wait and see. I have an eye for these things, an eye for the truth and a nose for news, as the saying goes.

_When will this end?_

_It goes on and on over and over again_

_Keep spinning around I know it won't stop_

_Till I step down from this for good_

It's not like I've never been wrong, though. I'm certainly not claiming to be perfection myself, the difference between him and me is that I don't go round pretending to be and betting innocent lives on my luck. Some may call it bravery, swinging into a burning building that's about to collapse for the sake of one child's life; I call it stupidity. He's a damn fool, and don't let anyone persuade you otherwise. 'Fools make stools so that wise men can crack their knees.' Never been a saying truer than that one. All he needs to do is one 'brave' rescue and this city becomes putty in his hands. He can mould it however he pleases, bend it to his will, bend _people_ to his will.

_I never thought I'd end up here_

_I never thought I'd be standing where I am_

_I guess I kind of thought it would be easier than this_

_I guess I was wrong now one more time_

Here I am, sticking my neck on the line by writing a rock -solid, down to earth and plain and simple newspaper to give New York the dirt on this _hero_, and what do I get? Letters by the bucket load, letters complaining that I've published slander, letters whining that Spider-man_ is _a hero, letters outraged at such claims. Bunch of fools, the lot of them. Don't even know their slander from their libel, yet still have the gall to complain to me?! The blind leading the blind, I tell ya. He can have his little fan club, but I know the truth and I will not be silenced.

Yes, I know the truth.

_I tried to climb your steps I tried to chase you down_

_I tried to see how low I could get down to the ground_

_I tried to earn my way I tried to change this mind_

_You better believe I tried to beat this_

He has wits, charm and heroic tendencies to boot.

He's everything I'm not.

And I hate him for it.

_When will this end?_

_It goes on and on over and over again_

_Keep spinning around I know it won't stop_

_Till I step down from this for good_

_This is a sick cycle carousel_

_This is a sick cycle carousel_

**Fin**

**:D Guess what? I got full marks for my monologue! WHOOOO! Now I'm so happy I can't sit still so I'm off to bounce around the room screaming! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT! :D**

**PS: Please review! :D**


	4. A Bitter Psychopath

**This chapter only is rated PG-13, so I had to change the rating for the whole fic. Grr... ****WellI'm warning you now, this fic may be weird. And disturbing. And generally freaky. You have been warned. The song is 'Somebody Else's Song' again by Lifehouse which is an amazingly brilliant band. :D**

**Spyder616: Thanks! :DRooftops is coming soon, but I checked it today and found a little plothole that needs to be sorted out first. Don't worry it won't take long.**

**Emily M. Hanson: Thanks I tried for a different take on JJ. :)**

**Moonjava: Yay and thanks!**

**Jenn1: Here ya go, thanks and that was what I was aiming for.**

**C.D Anders: Thanks I'm glad he was in character. :)**

**LordLanceahlot: Ooo good! And thanks!**

**And again, thanks to everyone who reviewed! ;)**

**The True Feelings Of A Bitter Psychopath**

_Can't change this feeling_

_I'm way out of touch_

_Can't change this meaning_

_It means too much_

I stare at the knife.

I stare at my reflection.

It stares back.

_Never been this lonely_

_Never felt so good_

_Can't be the only one misunderstood_

I turn the blade over in my hands and read the inscription on the other side. "Exploratus habere tuus inimicus," it reads. I remember my father giving me this dagger, when I was younger. It was part of our ancestral history, he'd told me, passed down from generation to generation. He said I was to take great care of it, and I remember how I had turned it over in my hands in fear and wonder then, and read the inscription that meant nothing to me. I had looked up at my father and asked him what it said. I remember him laughing and clapping me on the shoulder like he used to, as if I, at the tender age of 7, should know the meaning. At my puzzled expression he'd told me Alexander the Great had famously said it, and that it was Latin, and what it meant, but now, 12 years later, I cannot remember.

I sigh and wrack my brains for the answer but my memory fails me.

_I remind myself of somebody else_

_Feeling like I'm chasing_

_Like I'm facing myself alone_

_I've got somebody else's thoughts in my head_

_I want some of my own_

Looking to the side, I notice my forgotten glass of scotch is lying on the floor, its contents leaking out onto various framed photographs and an antique, and probably priceless, end table. I crane my neck and a scowl creases my forehead as I see every other picture except for the one taken of Peter and I at the Water Rapids Park is soaked, as if the photograph is repelling the liquid just to spite me. I rise to my feet angrily, dagger gripped tight in my shaking hand, and bring one foot down in the middle of the glass. It shatters instantly, disturbing all the other frames around it, and as I remove my foot the scotch runs in rivulets down under the frame and glass, tainting the picture of the rapids behind us an orangey red.

Satisfied, I turn away. As I do so, a glint of light catches my eye. I focus my gaze upon the ruin of a floor length mirror, and feel an instant migraine coming on. Hesitating, I transfer my weight from one foot to the other, a nervous habit I'd picked up in my younger years. I knew father wouldn't approve, but father isn't here anymore… thanks to that scum of a best friend.

_Can you see me up here?_

_Would you bring me back down?_

'_Cause I've been living to see my fears_

_As they fall to the ground_

Finally I tear my eyes from the mirror and what resides within, with considerable effort. I slump once more back into the Chez Lounge, not missing the irony.

Peter had lain chained in this very spot not an hour earlier. The only difference is I am not chained up and a murderer. Not yet, anyway. Subconsciously, my grip on the knife tightens and the blade cuts into my hand. I shoot up, wincing, and release the knife instantly so that it clatters to the floor with a sound like thunder. I inspect my hand but the cut is not deep, and strangely the pain doesn't seem to bother me as much as it would normally do. I glance down and pick up the bloodstained knife, this time by the blade, not the handle.

I press experimentally on the blade and this time I don't flinch as blood sluices down my palm.

_I remind myself of somebody else_

_Feeling like I'm chasing_

_Like I'm facing myself alone_

_I've got somebody else's thoughts in my head_

_I want some of my own_

_I want some of my own_

_I want some of my own_

---

Light reaches my eyes. I blink, once, twice, then sit up. I'm surprised to find I'm lying on the floor- and my shirt sleeve is soaked with blood.

My own blood.

I slowly reach to pull my sleeve up, and there tattooed across my arms are a gruesome collection of cuts.

I back-pedal as quickly as I can, slipping and sliding in my own coalescing blood, but find I cannot escape from myself. Harsh sobs rip from my voice box, and soon I find I cannot stop. I just lie there, surrounded by broken glass and pools of my own blood, crying like a schoolgirl. My father would not have approved.

_Am I hiding behind my doubts?_

_Are they hiding behind me?_

_Closer to finding out it doesn't mean anything_

Eventually I pull myself together and work up the courage to move. I stand up and sway dangerously from loss of blood. That can be remedied.

I wobble my way over to the drinks counter and replace what I've lost in blood with alcohol. That's become a rather nasty habit of mine recently.

After downing half the drinks cabinet, I wobble my way back to the psychiatrist's couch and slump onto it in defeat. As I do, my foot hits something solid. The knife slides out from under the couch. I shiver and quickly kick it back under, so I won't have to look at it. I know I'm being cowardly, and I know my father would not have approved, but right now I'm past caring.

_I remind myself of somebody else now_

_Feeling like I'm chasing_

_Like I'm facing myself alone_

_I've got somebody else's thoughts in my head_

_I want some of my own_

My thoughts linger on my father. The Great Norman Osborn. Lord of the Manor. Lord of his wife and son. Though, even Lords make mistakes. My father's was that he cared too much for the wrong things. His work for example, I rarely glimpsed him at the weekends, let alone workdays. Craving revenge was another of his mistakes, one that cost him his life. Perhaps it's one he's passed down to me. It certainly seems that way, for I cannot erase the image of Peter's naked face fixed to Spider-man's body planted firmly in my mind's eye.

Suddenly the meaning of the inscription of the blade comes to me. "Know thine enemy."

My father tried to kill Peter. Peter killed my father. But still the tables don't seem balanced somehow.

Perhaps I can change that?

I reach down and feel under the couch.

I slip the cold knife in my pocket.

I reach for my coat...

**Fin**

**Ok, this wins the grand prize for the creepiest thing I've ever written. Remind me never to write anything like this again, I'll freak myself out.**

**Please review! :D**


	5. A Heart Broken Actress

**Well, here's the last chapter until I get the urge to write more. This song fits so pefectly for the fic it's unreal. And believe it or not, I wrote the fic before I found the song, which is 'Somewhere In Between' by Lifehouse and so obviously doesn't belong to me. In fact all the songs for this series are by Lifehouse so you have to go listen to their album or buy it or something! As soon as you've read this, that is. ;)**

**Jenn1: Yay! I'm glad you like the Harry monologue. I didn't, but that's besides the point so thank you and bye!**

**betty brant: I don't know what to say to that so I'll just blush instead and say thank you! And here's MJ for you!**

**C.D. Anders: I wouldn't consider for one second not sticking Harry in here. ;) Thanks and I will! (hopefully)**

**Spyder616: It probably says something about you but I don't know what it is, I'm not a psychiatrist after all lol. Thanks! :D**

**jjonahjameson: Hehee I skip the songs as well, shh, don't tell anyone! ;) I just want to say thanks for wading through my stories and reviewing them, it means a lot to me!**

**LordLanceahlot: Thanks and your welcome I guess! :D**

**Moonjava: Thanks, I wrote the ending first actually, then worked backwards from that point. Weird, huh? :P**

**Everyone who reviewed, thanks again.**

**The True Feelings of a Heart-BrokenActress**

_I can't be losing sleep over this_

_No I can't_

_And I cannot stop pacing_

_Give me a few hours and I'll have this all sorted out_

_If my mind would just stop racing_

_It'll be different in the morning_

It'll be different in the morning.

The sun will come up and the birds will sing and everything will be just rosy.

A letter will come telling me I've got a leading role, and as I put the paper down Peter will fling open the door and twirl me around in a great big hug and we'll kiss underneath the stars that will suddenly appear.

_I cannot stand still_

_I can't be this unsturdy_

_This cannot be happening_

That's what I keep telling myself anyway. It's my mantra. The words I live by. I don't know what I'd do without them, just like I don't know what I'd do without Peter Parker. Or rather, I do know, because I've never been _with_ Peter Parker and now I'm not so certain I ever will be.

Scrap that. I _know_ I'll never be with Peter Parker. In fact scrap the whole saying, I _know_ tomorrow will dawn just as bright as today, which is not very. There's no point crying over spilt milk, that's what my mother would say if she was here. And then my father would tell her to put a lid on all those sayings that don't mean anything, except he wouldn't phrase it quite so politely.

But mother and father aren't here now. It's just me in my lonely apartment, daydreaming about a boy I love and can never have. All I have left is the memory of his lips and the resulting tingle in my own. The sparkling turquoise irises that always seem so wise yet full of laughter. Those eyes and lips that I will never sample again.

_This is over my head but underneath my feet_

_Because by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat_

_And everything will be back to the way it was_

_I wish that it was just that easy_

Perhaps I'm becoming cynical in my old age. It isn't as if I'll never have the chance to see him again, it's just my choice of whether I take it or not. To be or not to be, that is the question. Peter has already made his decision on that account, but I've yet to make mine. I weigh the pros against the cons in my mind. If I go to him I obviously run the risk of rejection, yet if I stay here I could be passing up the chance of a lifetime. Now the question is am I ready to risk my already bruised heart for the glimmer of hope, of happiness, of love at the end of the proverbial tunnel?

_I am waiting for tonight_

_Then waiting for tomorrow_

_And I am somewhere in between_

_What is real and just a dream_

I avoid the question for a while and take a sip of my drink, scolding myself for procrastinating. The third option is to sit here and put the moment of reckoning off for a couple of weeks or five.

After all, that's what I've been doing ever since the funeral, why stop now? Why not just let the vicious cycle go on and on and on, until I'm old and grey. Perhaps then I'll be able to work up the courage to put my heart on the line again, and until that day I'll sit right here and drink… what is it I'm drinking anyway?

_Would you catch me if I fall out of what I fell in?_

_Don't be surprised if I collapse down at your feet again_

_I don't want to run away from this_

_I know that I just don't need this_

I turn the bottle over and discover I've been drinking vodka for the last thirty minutes or so. Strange, it had looked and tasted like water until I saw the label. I instantly stand up somewhat shakily and put the bottle down, this time well clear of the similar-looking mineral water bottles. As I sit down again, it suddenly hits me that I made my mind up to stop drinking just then in the space of a second, so why is it so damn hard to make decisions when it comes to Peter?

And I answer myself, he's worth a lot more than a bottle of vodka. A lot more. He doesn't know it, but part of me is resting on his well-being. If he dies, a part of me will die with him, and I fear I'll never get it back. That kind of relationship can't be replaced, I tell myself, and as the thought runs through my brain, I know I've reached my decision.

_I cannot stand still_

_I can't be this unsturdy_

_This cannot be happening_

I can only make tomorrow a better day if I do something to cause it to be, and moping won't do anyone a bit of good. He's a part of me, so surely I must be a part of him in return. It only makes sense, or else he wouldn't be complete.

We belong together.

We are one.

I'll go to him, and it _will_ be different tomorrow.

_I am waiting for tonight_

_Then waiting for tomorrow_

_And I am somewhere in between_

_What is real and just a dream_

_What is real and just a dream_

_What is real and just a dream_

**Fin**

**It was a nice change to write this series, but I've found I much prefer the third person, so I'm back to writing in my old style again. I'll post Smoking On the Rooftops in a few days, then after that I'll be working on my new fic tentatively titled Costly Mistakes, which should be even longer than Surprise, Surprise. Anyways, enough of the shameless plugging, now for some shameless begging. Review, please review! I'm begging you to review! Please! ;)**


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